Leader of the Pack
by frosty wonder ice
Summary: ChristopheKyle All Christophe wants is for Kyle to live his life, without his mother bossing him around


**Leader of the Pack**

One-shotAngst-ridden

**Pairing**: Kyle/Christophe-Mole (because there is not enough out there)

**Rating**: Most likely PG, but I will say PG-13, just in case

**Warnings**: If you like Kyle's mother, run and hide. If you do not like slash, run and hide. Death-fic.

**Extra**: Eh, based off of the number one hit song in 1964. This fic was written in response to a fic challenge on one of those groups… I know they are pretty much the same age in the movie, but Kyle & Company are about seventeen while Christophe is around nineteen. Eh… since this was written so quickly, there isn't much depth to it and there are probably quite a few mistakes… Watch out.

And… I _do_ like Cartman, but it's easier to write like I don't.

"What about Bebe?"

Kyle scrunched his nose up in disgust, both at the box of candy he had just pulled from the shelf and at Stan's suggestion. "I said I wanted someone 'fun,' but I didn't mean 'fun' as in orgies. Geez, Stan, I'd probably get a disease just holding her hand. She's been with every guy in town."

"Except you, right?"

Kyle gave Kenny a brief, but very severe, glare before shoving the box of candy back on the shelf and stalking off. His two friends watched him until he was around the corner and then Stan smacked Kenny on the back of the head.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Kenny growled, pushing Stan away and nearly into another shelf of colorful candies.

"Stop being an asshole," Stan ordered harshly. "Not everyone is a random slut like you."

Kenny smirked. "The more the merrier."

With a roll of his eyes, Stan turned his back on Kenny to examine the variety of chocolates. "Just shut up and help me find something for Wendy."

Once he was far enough from Stan and Kenny, Kyle slowed his pace to a calm walk and ceased his grumblings on annoying friends. He had ended up in the assorted bubble gum aisle, which – he was beginning to believe he had some sort of sixth sense – also happened to be where his little brother was currently located.

"Have you found what you want yet?" Kyle asked, running a hand through his hair.

Ike blinked at Kyle like he was insane. "We've only been here for fifteen minutes! How could I have possibly found anything in such little time?" Ike watched Kyle sigh dramatically and run his hands through his hair again. "Did they piss you off?"

Kyle snapped his head around to look at Ike. "What?"

"You always run your hands through your hair like that when you're pissed," Ike said with a casual shrug. "What'd they do?"

"That's none of your business," was the flat reply. "And don't say 'pissed.'"

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to end up saying it around Mom and I'm going to get blamed," Kyle snapped. He lifted a hand to run it through his hair, but, catching his brother's smirk out of the corner of his eye, he quickly dropped it.

Ike picked up a large bag of all the bubble gum flavors mixed together. "Well, I learned it from you. Why shouldn't you get blamed?"

"You didn't learn it from me. You learned it from that tool of systematic destruction of our youth's minds," Kyle gave Ike a threatening glare, "right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I learned if from the TV, right, I got it," Ike waved the statement off, more interested in the bag of bubblegum. "Ooh, look! They have that fireball gum in here…"

Kyle pushed away the bag that was suddenly thrust into his face. "Is that what you want then?"

"Nah, I don't really like gum."

Ike tossed the bag back on the shelf and skipped off, pausing at the end of the aisle long enough to say innocently, "Don't glare at me like that. Someone might think you hate me," and then was gone before Kyle could answer.

"'Someone might think you hate me,'" Kyle mocked, rolling his eyes. He reached over to the bag Ike had thrown and straightened it to how it was before, nice and neat along with all the others.

Satisfied (honestly, why was Ike so messy?), he made to go find Stan and Kenny – still mad but Stan was probably having a fit trying to find something for his girlfriend – but was shocked to discover that he was knocked to the ground when he turned. In a feeble attempt to regain balance whilst falling, his hands flew out wildly, knocking about six bags of bubblegum off the shelf he had just fixed.

But at least he managed to get his hands back and brace himself so he landed on his rear instead of his head.

"What the hell?!"

A deep chuckle drew his attention up to the person standing over him, one hand extended to help him. "In my defense, _you_ ran into _me._"

Kyle blushed, realizing he was still glaring, and reached for the offered hand. He paused before taking it, because, ew, those fingernails… but the other grabbed his hand and lifted him off the floor before he had a chance to say otherwise. Kyle looked up at the other and was hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. He shook it away and smiled weakly. "Ah, sorry… I wasn't paying attention." So much for sixth sense.

The other smiled back. "So I noticed."

"Um… yeah…" Kyle mumbled, still eying the person curiously. Then, noticing the bags of bubblegum on the floor, he leaned over and began to pick them up, glancing at the other every now and then while he rambled. "I, uh, was arguing with my brother. I didn't think anyone else-"

"The Mole."

Kyle stopped. "Huh?"

 "The Mole from the war when we were kids. You wanted to know who I am, right?" the other asked, smiling at Kyle's shocked expression.

"The… oh, wow," Kyle said, standing up straight, arms full of bubblegum bags. "I haven't seen you since… well, since…"

"Since I died in your arms?" the Mole suggested helpfully. He chuckled at the embarrassed blush that spread across Kyle's face and started to put the bags back on the shelf. "Yeah, I generally don't prance around in public. Kind-of goes with the whole 'mole' thing."

"Ah…" Kyle handed off the last bag before starting to straighten the shelf again. He could feel his jealousy rising like it always did when he was around someone taller. Normally such things didn't bother him, but ever since Kenny had pointed out two months prior that Kyle had practically stopped growing when they hit fifteen, remaining thin and short unlike his normal-sized, average growing friends, Cartman had given him hell (man, he hated that fatass) and now he couldn't help the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him.

The Mole watched him fix the shelf with an eyebrow arched. "Are you always this neat?"

Kyle scowled. "Is it a problem?"

Another deep chuckle. "Seems that's a bit of a sore spot, hm?"

"Well, there's nothing wrong with being orderly," Kyle huffed, eyeing the Mole's somewhat tattered clothing, which earned him a wide grin. He started to say more, but was cut off when he heard his name being called from another aisle.

"Yo! Where'd you go? Kyle?"

The Mole smirked at Kyle's irritated expression. "I need to get going anyway."

"Yeah…"

As he walked past Kyle, he placed a hand on Kyle's arm and leaned down to whisper, "See you around," before leaving.

Kyle shivered, a chill having gone through him from where the Mole's breath brushed against him.

"Hey! Dude, geez, why didn't you answer me?" Stan stood at the end of the aisle opposite the one the Mole had just used to exit, and looked like a thoroughly ruffled bird. He sighed in exasperation at Kyle's confused, startled expression, but his irritation diminished quickly as he remembered the reason he was trying to find his friend in the first place.

"What do you think Wendy would like better: the stuffed rabbit or the bear? Or neither? They had ducks over there…"

"Man, I hate school."

Kyle made a small sound of agreement, but didn't turn his eyes away from the ice-covered window, his chin resting on his propped up hand. It has snowed hard the night before, and they were waiting for the snow plow in front of them to finish clearing the road so that it was drivable. Ike sat between him and Stan, nodding off and startling back awake occasionally.

The morning sun had barely made it over the first hill, and it provided little extra warmth in Stan's ancient truck. The engine was still warming up and would start to fail every other minute or so, and Stan would pat the dashboard and whisper, "Come on, girl," in hope to keep the rusty thing alive. It was a pathetic form of transportation, but it was the only thing Stan could afford on his current high school income.

"Oh, by the way, after school practice starts today, so I can't give you guys a ride home anymore," Stan said suddenly. "I meant to tell you Friday, but I forgot."

Kyle sighed. _At least he remembered _before_ school is out. _"That's okay. We can take the bus."

"Cool." Stan rubbed the driving wheel in a comforting manner. "Come on, just a little longer, girl… Anyway, I _could_ give you a ride if you'd get back in track."

"For the last time, I'm not getting back in!" Kyle groaned, turning away from the window. "Why do you keep bugging me with that? Besides, it's not like the bus is going to kill me. I did ride it our first ten years of school, you know."

"I keep bugging you because you should get back in! All you do now is sit at home, playing on that computer of yours. You're just lazy, and you know it," Stan answered flatly, giving Kyle a small glare. "And I _know_ how much you hate the bus, so don't try to pull that shit with me."

"Whatever," Kyle mumbled, going back to staring out the window.

"You know, you should talk your mom into letting you get your drivers license," Stan said.

"And what would I do with a driver's license when I don't have a car?" Kyle mumbled, blowing on the window and writing on the fogged area.

"Well, save up your money and buy one."

Kyle scowled at the snow beyond the truck. "What money? I don't get an allowance and it'd be kind of hard to keep a job since I would have to drive to get to it."

"All right! Geez! Don't bite my head off," Stan grumbled. He tapped on his wheel agitatedly, but quickly forgot his irritation with Kyle, too used to the mood swings to truly be bothered. "Wendy has a friend named Janice-"

"Stan," Kyle interrupted quickly. "Look, I know you're trying to help, but I really don't think setting me up with any of these girls you keep suggesting is going to help."

"Fine. Whatever."

The road was finally cleared in front of them and they were waved past.

--

Kyle leaned against the wall beside him and closed his eyes; he always chose the seats nearest the wall for that very purpose. He also preferred to sit in the back since it was less likely for the teacher to call of him for the answer. And he had a small bit of paranoia about having people sit behind him. It was a complicated thing, really.

At the moment, he had a headache, and the drone of his English teacher wasn't helping much. He probably would not have a headache if Kenny would stop tapping his pencil against the desk like that, but asking Kenny to stop was out of the question, as it would be pointless since Kenny's hyperactive problem was as serious as Kyle's paranoia.

Of course, Cartman didn't have any sort of problem and was just popping his gum to get on Kyle's nerves.

Kyle pushed away from the wall, leaned across the aisle, and punched Cartman in the arm all in one quick movement.

"Agh! Hey! You little piece of sh-"

"Eric Cartman!" Their teacher spun around to face the class, the piece of chalk in her hand breaking in two as she clenched her fist. "What have I said about talking out of turn and causing a disruption in my class?"

"But Mrs. Garner," Cartman whined. "Kyle just hit me!"

Mrs. Garner's eyes flashed over to her favorite student, who looked incredibly indignant at the accusation, before going back to Cartman. "I will not tolerate such nonsense today, Eric. Go stand in the hall for the remainder of the day."

"But Mrs. Garner!"

"Hall, NOW!"

"Ah, man," Cartman growled, noisily getting out of his desk while all the other students snickered behind their hands. He glowered at the redhead in the corner. "I hate you, Kyle, you bitch."

Kyle smirked darkly.

"And spit out your gum!"

As soon as Cartman was gone and Mrs. Garner had was back to writing on the chalkboard, Kyle leaned against the wall again and closed his eyes. That had been fun, but he still had a headache. The thought of getting on the bus in ten minutes was not at all appealing.

Something hit Kyle in the forehead, making him snap back to attention in his seat. A snort of laughter caught his attention and he at Kenny sitting two desks in front of him. Kenny grinned and motioned to a balled up piece of paper on the floor beside him – the thing that apparently had hit him. Kyle leaned over and picked it up, smoothing it out to read it.

_Cynthia?_

Kyle frowned at the paper. He glanced at Mrs. Garner to make sure she was busy, and then grabbed his pen and wrote, _Who__?_ underneath the name. He quietly scrunched it back into a ball and tossed it to Kenny.

When it came back, Kenny had written, _A__ freshman. She's really cute. At least she won't be taller than you!_

Kyle's eyes narrowed upon reading the last sentence. He looked up at Kenny and promptly flipped the other boy off. Kenny laughed quietly and mouthed, "_Well?"_ Kyle shook his head no. Kenny rolled his eyes. _"Why not?_" Kyle just waved him off and went back to trying to sleep against the wall.

A moment later, Kenny's pencil was tapping the desk.

--

Kyle was last to leave the class when the bell rang, literally dragging his feet as he walked. Kenny and Cartman were waiting outside, Stan having been in another class and probably already heading toward the track for practice.

Cartman scowled at him as he came through the door. "Why do you always have to be such a little suck-up?"

"Why are you such a jackass?" Kyle countered, picking up his pace because he really did not feel like arguing with Cartman right then.

"Are you feeling okay? You've been spacey all day," Kenny said, having to jog a little to keep up with Kyle even though his legs were longer. Cartman lagged behind, growling at them to slow down.

"Yeah, I'm just tired," Kyle mumbled.

They stopped at the school doors and waited for Cartman to catch up. He huffed up to them, leaning on his knee. "You know, I read today that short men are often grouchy because they feel inferior to other men, so they, like, have to be all bossy and stuff. That's probably why no chicks want to be with him."

Kenny grinned and Kyle glared.

"And I also read that chicks hate Jews because they're so-"

"Shut the hell up, fatass," Kyle snapped, shoving a door open and stomping outside.

Kenny and Cartman followed him, laughing. Kyle ignored them as he stalked toward the buses. He could already hear all the noise from outside the bus, and through the windows he saw papers flying, students fighting, and all around a mad house. He stopped a few steps away from the bus door and ran a hand through his hair.

"What's got you so pissed off, Kyle?"

Ike laughed when Kyle shot him a particularly vicious glare and drew back from the bus window, pushing it up and closed.

"Dude, aren't you coming?" Kenny asked, foot already on the first step.

Kyle eyed the bus warily, and then shook his head. "No, I think I'm going to walk home."

"What? Are you such a pussy that you can't even ride the bus?" Cartman taunted, sneering at him.

"Fuck you," Kyle growled, and spun on his heel, heading down the sidewalk.

"Are you sure?" Kenny called after him. "This isn't the best weather and it's an awfully long walk!"

"IF YOU'RE GONNA RIDE THE BUS THEN GET ON ALREADY!!"

Ah, Miss Crabtree. Yet another reason Kyle didn't want to ride the bus home. He heard the bus door close behind Kenny and Cartman, and a second later it was passing by him, Kenny hanging his head out and yelling something unintelligible over the noise of the engine and the tires on the road. Kyle sighed, realizing he probably just made a mistake, but even the thought of that bus ride made him sick.

Of course, seeing how he was about to take a thirty minute walk during an especially cold February in Colorado, he would be sick anyway, but Kyle would rather be cold than squished next to a bunch of greasy people in any case.

It was actually a very nice day, considering the previous night. The sky still looked cloudy and dark, but it was the sort of weather Kyle liked. If the wind wasn't blowing, his day would have been made. As it was, Kyle rubbed his gloved hands together and stuck them in the sleeve of the opposite arm for warmth, the wind biting his already cold cheeks.

It took Kyle a minute to realize that there was somebody riding a motorcycle next to him, slowing to his pace. He wondered how he could possibly have missed such a loud and obnoxious sound, but stopped walking to cautiously stare at the person.

The person stopped the motorcycle with Kyle, and turned it off.

"Um… Is there something you want?" Kyle asked, and then mentally smacked himself. What a great thing to ask a probable-rapist. Well, not that he considered himself a target, but it always seemed to happen to the least likely people, and he was completely alone…

The person unsnapped his helmet strap and removed it, giving Kyle a small smile. "It's a bit cold to be out for a walk."

_The Mole_. Kyle returned the smile a little shyly, somewhat embarrassed with his answer. "Uh, yeah, that's why I'm going home."

"You live near the school?" the Mole asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't recall seeing any houses in this area."

"Well, no. I live on Maple Street…" Kyle shifted nervously under the Mole's analyzing stare, and added in a small voice, "I didn't want to ride the bus."

The Mole grinned at Kyle's nervousness. "Does this occur often?"

"No, I usually get a ride from my friend, but he has track practice," Kyle replied, reaching up to brush some of his hair behind his ear. "I, uh, just didn't want to take the bus home today."

"You don't like the bus?"

"I don't like the bus."

The Mole seemed to be sizing him up, studying him thoughtfully.  Kyle had the sudden feeling that there had to be something wrong with him for this person to be looking at him like that, and he began to step back and forth uneasily again. Plus, it was getting cold just standing.

"I can give you a ride, if you'd like," the Mole said at last.

Kyle looked positively appalled. "What? Are you kidding? On these roads? Do you have any idea what little amount of ice it takes to send a _car _off the road, and you want me to ride _that?_ You have to be out of your mind! Do you know how many people have wrecks on those things? They are one of the most dangerous-"

Kyle stopped abruptly when he noticed the Mole staring at him oddly. He shifted nervously again, and looked away, a blush coloring his already red cheeks. "I take after my mom," he explained sheepishly.

"Not physically, at least," the Mole said with a wink, making Kyle blush even more. He held out his helmet to Kyle. "Statistics are always wrong."

"Wrong, but not always false," Kyle answered, eyeing the helmet with a frown.

"I promise I will drive as safe as I know how," the Mole offered, still holding the helmet out for Kyle to take.

Well, it would certainly get him home faster, and despite all the dangers, he could not help but want to ride a motorcycle. He always had, but his mother… She would kill him if she found out. He was pretty sure Stan's uncle was still bruised from the beating he received when he had just _suggested_ giving the boys a quick ride each.

_She just won't have to know_, Kyle thought. He reached for the helmet, "Okay…" but then drew his hand back sharply when the thought of the Mole sweating inside that helmet on one of the hotter days crossed his mind. That was just… ick. There was no way he was putting that thing on.

The Mole evidently realized Kyle's wariness of the helmet and laughed, pulling the helmet back. "What, after all that and you don't want the one thing that might keep you alive?"

"It's just that…"

"Yeah, I know," the Mole said with another laugh. He strapped the helmet on, and then motioned for Kyle to get on behind him.

Kyle hesitantly slid onto the back, a nervous thrill going through him when the Mole started it. Ah… his mother was going to murder him a thousand times over… "Remember you promised to drive safe… Hey? Mole? Remember, you said-AH!"

Latching onto the form in front of him, Kyle could feel the Mole laughing. He seriously considered punching him, but one, he was not about to let go, and two, it would probably be the cause of his own death. He just tightened his grip as they picked up speed, and buried his face in the back of the Mole's coat (which smelt of cigarette and gun powder smoke), now wishing he had taken the helmet after all, the wind whipping around them viciously.

And then Kyle realized he was grinning, because, wow, this was one of the most exhilarating moments of his life: knowing that they could crash and burn as the Mole took each corner rather dangerously (this was what he called _safe?_) and knowing that he would be dead in a second without any safety gear. It was really getting his adrenaline moving.

All too soon, the five minutes drive was up as the Mole slowed to a stop at the head of his street. Kyle slipped off the motorcycle, disappointed that it was over, but glad that the Mole didn't know which house was his, as his mother would definitely see him riding up to the front door on a motorcycle.

The Mole removed his helmet, smiling at the still-grinning redhead. "Have fun?"

"That was…" Kyle paused, the grin on his face disappearing into a dark frown and he suddenly punched the Mole in the shoulder, surprising the other. "Life-threatening! You promised that you would drive safe! You could have killed us both! And then my mother would find some way to bring me back just so she could kill me again…"

"Such quick mood swings." The Mole shook his head in wonder, rubbing his now tender shoulder, as Kyle kept up with his ranting. He listened for a few more seconds out of plain amusement before he had had enough. He lifted a finger to Kyle's mouth, making the boy stop talking and look at him again. "I promised that I would drive as safe as I know how, and, as you found out, that's not very safe. Now, go home before you get sick."

With that, the Mole put his helmet back on and was off before Kyle could argue. Kyle began to make his way toward his house, a small smile on his face, the thrill of the experience still flowing through him.

"Damn it! Where the hell is the bus? I'm freezing my ass off out here!"

"Someone said it's being held up due to the snow on the roads."

There was a collective groan in the group of high school students waiting at the front of the school.

Kyle sighed and sat down on the school steps, and soon Kenny and Cartman joined him. They subconsciously huddled closer together for warmth. They had been out of school for at least five minutes and still no bus, which wasn't entirely bad, as it gave Kyle time to prepare himself for the crammed and stuffy atmosphere.

"So, are you going to Token's party next Saturday?" Kenny asked, nudging Kyle with his elbow to get the boy's attention.

"I guess," Kyle said, shrugging. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"His mom won't let him go," Cartman snorted. "When has she ever let her precious Kyle do anything?"

Kyle scowled, knowing Cartman was right, but refusing to agree with him.

Kenny slapped Kyle on the back. "If you talked her into it, she'd probably let you go. You always give up too soon with her. Bug her until she says yes."

"Or until she staples my mouth shut, you mean," Kyle said sourly.

"Yeah, that, too," Kenny laughed. "Come on, you _have _to go. If you don't, Stan's going to be bothering _me_ all night with his problems. I don't think I can take much more of Wendy-talk."

Cartman grinned evilly. "Just fuck her, and then you and Stan would have a lot to talk about."

"Hell no!" Kenny cried, his voice squeaking a little and catching the attention of a few other students. "I'd have a lot to talk about with Stan's _fist_, you mean. I'm not dumb enough to get my ass kicked."

"You could take him," Cartman assured, still looking quite evil.

"Whatever is going on in that fat brain of yours, stop it," Kenny growled, eyeing Cartman suspiciously.

Kyle rolled his eyes at their bickering, but was thankful that he was no longer an active member of the conversation. He leaned on his hand and absentmindedly watched some birds in a tree nearby.

A loud sound caught his attention, along with his two (somewhat) friends, and they all looked up in time to see a motorcycle pass. They watched it go down to the end of the street and take a left, disappearing behind the fences, Kyle watching it with a different sort of attention than either Kenny or Cartman.

"Dude, that is so cool. I'm gonna get one as soon as I get my license," Cartman proclaimed rather smugly.

With a wicked smirk, Kyle stood up and stretched. "Cartman, your fatass weighs down a car. What makes you think a motorcycle could possibly hold under you?"

Cartman jumped to his feet, his fists balling at his side. "Hey! Don't call me fat, you anorexic little freak!"

"Unlike your claim, I _actually_ have _small_ bones. I'm _not_ anorexic," Kyle said with a sniff. He began to walk off, saying over his shoulder, "And don't even try to fight me. I can kick your ass any day of the week."

"Yeah, he's not anorexic. I've seen him eat. He'd have to be bulimic, or whatever," Kenny said, standing up to stop Cartman from lunging at their redheaded friend. He turned to Kyle's retreating form. "Where are you going? We still have to talk about getting you a girl."

"I'm walking home."

Kenny frowned. "Again?"

Kyle didn't answer, hearing Cartman grumble something nasty about him, but he was already too far down the sidewalk and too concerned with where he was going to understand it. He knew whose motorcycle that was, having recognizing both it and the form on it. And he could have sworn that it braked after the corner, and he knew the Mole liked to speed up coming out of a turn.

Not that he would act all giddy, but Kyle couldn't help but hope that the Mole was waiting around the fences. He picked up his pace, almost jogging, until he reached the corner, and when he went around it, a wide smile spread across his face.

The Mole was sitting on the curb beside his motorcycle, smoking a cigarette. He glanced at the approaching Kyle and waved, his fingers curling into a peace sign. "Don't feel like riding the bus today?"

"Not especially," Kyle sighed.

"Well, then," the Mole pushed himself to his feet and dropped his cigarette into the snow beside the sidewalk, "hop on."

It might have been considered a skip, but Kyle would hurt anyone who suggested it was. He would admit that he was excited with the idea of riding on the motorcycle again, but he certainly didn't _skip_ over to it.

The second ride was even more fun than the first, and once more Kyle was disappointed that it had to be so short. He was again dropped off at the head of his street, and went to punch the Mole again for driving like a bat out of hell, but this time the Mole caught his hand and shook a finger at him.

"You shouldn't hit me. You should thank me," the Mole chided. "You could have gone on the bus, and not have had nearly as much fun."

"Thank you, Mole," Kyle mumbled, rolling his eyes. "But I'm not so sure scaring me within an inch of my life is _fun_."

The Mole smirked. "If you like it then it is." He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes a little at Kyle, studying the redhead yet again.

"What?" Kyle asked, feeling, like he had the day before, uneasy under the scrutiny.

"You can call me Christophe, you know," the Mole said after a moment. "That _is_ my name."

"Oh, I didn't know, sorry," Kyle apologized. _Christophe_… "Well, then, thank you Christophe."

"Anytime."

It was then that Kyle noticed that Christophe still had his hand, and he drew it back, blushing when he heard that deep chuckle. He brushed a few stray hairs out of his eyes, more to give him something to do as he stood awkwardly than to get rid of an annoyance. "Would you like to come over?"

"Why?" Christophe asked, enjoying the way Kyle squirmed in embarrassment.

"I don't know… To get something warm to drink?" Kyle asked uncertainly. He sighed when Christophe arched an eyebrow, and stared at his feet. "Look, my mom isn't home on Tuesdays and Thursdays because she helps out at the daycare, and I get really bored when I'm alone since Ike always goes over to his friend's house, and usually Stan comes over, but he has practice, so I thought that-"

"I'm a replacement friend, then?"

"No! No, that's not what I meant. I just thought-"

"Which house?"

Kyle looked up at Christophe, confused. "Huh?"

Christophe gestured toward the houses lining the street. "Which one is yours?"

"Oh, uh, the third on the right."

"Then let's go," Christophe said, smiling at Kyle, who returned it and slid back on to the motorcycle. Christophe hardly went fast in such a short distance, but turned sharply enough into Kyle's driveway that Kyle thought they were about to crash, his heart leaping into his throat.

Kyle fished for his keys in his coat pocket. "Um, I'm pretty sure we have tea and milk, but I think there is some hot chocolate in the cabinet if you want some."

"Tea will be fine," Christophe answered. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and made to light the cigarette already waiting between his lips, but Kyle grabbed the lighter from him quickly. Christophe stared at him in surprise.

"Um, there's a no smoking rule in my house," Kyle explained.

"Ah, sorry," Christophe murmured. He took his lighter back from Kyle and deposited it and the cigarette back into his pocket. When Kyle turned back around to unlock the door, he smiled in amusement. He had actually been surprised at how fast Kyle could move. He wasn't often taken by surprise like that, but it was the second time Kyle had managed to do something before he could prevent it, the first having been that lovely slug in the shoulder. "So what do you do for fun?"

Kyle put his keys back into his pocket and opened the door, ushering Christophe quickly through so as to not let the heat out (he had been yelled at plenty times as a kid for standing with the door open). "Oh… uh, actually, I usually just listen to Stan whine about his girlfriend problems…"

Christophe looked at him strangely. "And that's fun?"

"Well, no, it sucks, but Stan pretty much dominates any conversation…" Kyle said, sounding a bit irritated as he did.

"Oh… In that case, do you have a computer?"

--

_Do I have a computer? Ha!_

Kyle sat in front of what he called his "gaming" computer, his "school" one currently running a major virus scan, and his laptop recharging on his bed. If there was one thing his mother allowed him to indulge in, it was computers. Technology was on her "Most Important" list, and she was delighted to get anything that would help her son be more technologically advanced.

It was kind-of freaky at times, though.

Christophe sat a little behind and beside Kyle, draping one arm across Kyle's chair as he leaned forward to see the screen. "No, no! You have to go left! Go left!"

"I'm going left! It's just not turning fast enough!" Kyle snapped.

"Use the boosters! Agh! Why didn't you use the boosters?" Christophe slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned.

At the Game Over flashing on the screen, Kyle sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest huffily. "It was too late to use the boosters anyway."

"I could have beaten it."

"Shut up."

In all honesty, Kyle was delighted that Christophe liked computer games as much as he did. None of his friends cared for them beyond the usual video game. He was also delighted that Christophe could use his left-handed mouse, as Stan complained all the time about it (_that_ was discovered in a rather interesting conversation – "Ambidextrous, huh? So, do you still do all that Mole stuff?" "If I told you, I'd kill you.")

Christophe dropped his arm off the back of the chair and around Kyle to give the redhead a mocking hug. "It's okay, little one, I'm better at you in a lot of things."

Kyle shoved him off. "Don't call me that! I bet I'm smarter than you anyway."

"Ah, you may have the book smarts, but I'm far more street-wise," Christophe said with a chuckle. He glanced behind him at the bedroom door. "When did you say your mother comes home?"

Kyle restarted the game. "It depends on what she has to do at the daycare. Why?"

The door opened. "Kyle, why is there a motorcycle…"

Christophe and Kyle's mother stared at one another while Kyle whipped around. "Mom!"

Sheila Broflovski eyed the older teenage boy in something akin to disgust, and it was returned in full force back at her. "You didn't tell me you were having a friend over, Kyle."

"What do you mean? Stan always comes over," Kyle replied nervously.

"That's different," Mrs. Broflovski said, giving him a stern look. "May I ask your name?"

"Everyone calls me Mole." Christophe stood up, sensing that it was a good time for him to leave. He looked down at Kyle, his expression softening. "I really need to be getting home."

"I suppose, _Mole_, that is your motorcycle in the driveway?" Mrs. Broflovski quipped, clearly disapproving.

"You suppose correctly," Christophe answered as politely as he could.

Mrs. Broflovski stared accusingly at her son, causing him to almost shrink under the harsh gaze. "You didn't ride on that thing, did you?"

"He wouldn't even take a step near it," Christophe said quickly before Kyle could incriminate himself. He smiled kindly at the large woman (who was still giving him a dirty look). "It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Brofloski, but I really need to get going. Good bye."

"Bye…" Kyle called after the retreating figure. Neither he nor his mother said anything until they heard the front door close, an engine start up, and then the sound disappear in the distance. "So, um, what's for-"

"His name," Mrs. Broflovski commanded. "And I want his _real_ name."

"It's Christophe." Kyle _did_ shrink into his chair as his mother stormed farther into his room, coming right up to him.

"What are his parents like?"

"I don't know. I only met him a few days ago."

"Hm…" Mrs. Broflovski looked thoughtful for a minute. "He seemed oddly familiar…"

"He was in La Resistance," Kyle offered quietly.

"That must be it," his mother said with a growl. Though she had come to accept what others called her "mistake," Sheila Broflovski had never truly thought that what she did during that war was wrong. "Where did you meet him?"

"At the candy store…"

"Well, I've got a bad feeling about him, Kyle, but seeing as he hasn't proved that he's a hooligan, aside from that dangerous vehicle, I suppose I can't forbid you from being friends with him." She almost looked disheartened by her own words. "However, I had hoped that by now you could pick your friends wisely. This… Charles, was it? He looks like he's from the other side of the railroad tracks, and I don't mean your friend Kenneth's side. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dinner will be ready in an hour." His mother paused at the door, giving him a more sympathetic look. "I'm just trying to do what's right for you, Kyle."

Kyle nodded to show he understood, and sighed once his mother was gone. But as he turned back around to his computer, a smile crept its way to his face. Even if his mother disapproved of Christophe, he had had more fun that afternoon than in a long while.

For the rest of that week, and the week after, Christophe gave Kyle a ride home from school. He stayed with Kyle on the other Tuesday and the Thursdays, leaving only when Mrs. Broflovski came home. He even came over on Saturday for a little while, which was where he was currently kicking Kyle's ass in every computer game the boy owned.

"I hate you," Kyle growled as Christophe killed off another of his men.

"Aw, don't be upset, little one. I'm just better than you are," Christophe said with a smirk.

"You're cheating," Kyle accused. "And stop calling me that!"

"Cheating? How could I possibly be cheating?" Christophe asked.

Kyle muttered something under his breath and folded his arms, glowering at the computer screen. Having gotten rid of the last of Kyle's men, Christophe continued on through the level, easily passing obstacles that normally gave Kyle problems, and he was supposed to be the computer whiz!

The phone rang just then, receiving its own glare from the vehement redhead. He snatched it off the hook, saying in the politest voice, "Hello?"

Christophe snorted at the false tone, but didn't take his eyes away from the game.

"Hey, Kenny…" Kyle sighed, standing up from his chair and walking over to his bed to flop down on it. "Yeah, Stan asked her. Thanks for putting him up to it, you asshole. … Yeah, well, I don't plan to stay long. … Whatever. … Yeah, see you there."

Kyle clicked the phone off and dropped his arm over his eyes with a groan.

Christophe, having beaten the level, sat back to look at him. "What's go you so upset?"

"Stan came over to dinner last night and asked my mom for me, without my permission and because he knows she likes him and thinks he's a good influence, if I could go to Token's Valentine's party tonight that I really didn't want to go to in the first place," Kyle mumbled, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow.

"Oh, yeah, I guess tomorrow is Valentine's Day, eh? I'd forgotten about it," Christophe said offhandedly. Kyle groaned and pulled his covers over him, making Christophe laugh. "Why don't you want to go?"

"Because it's just going to be a bunch of people getting piss-ass drunk and really crappy music, and I'm not going to have anyone to talk to because Stan going to be too busy making out with Wendy, and Kenny is probably going to disappear with some girl, and I can't stand talking to Cartman," was the muffled reply. Kyle poked his head out from under the blankets. "You want to go?"

Christophe arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm not into high school parties. Even if I was, you're not making it sound extremely exciting."

"That's because it's not!" Kyle exclaimed, ducking back under the blankets. "It sucks ass!"

"Have you ever been to one?" Christophe asked.

"…Well… no…"

"Then how do you know it's that bad?"

"I just do!"

Christophe stared at the small bump of blankets, quite entertained with the conversation. He shook his head at Kyle and turned back to the computer, starting up a new game.

--

The truck ran the stop sign, lucky that no one else was currently at the small intersection. It came to a halt fifty yards past the stop sign before slowing creeping back into motion again. Had it been midnight, any one might think the driver was drunk. However, it was only seven thirty, and both of its occupants were quite sober.

"Dude, you truck sucks," Kyle said, hanging onto the door like it was his only saving hope and checking the sat belt one more time to make sure it would not suddenly come out of socket.

"What?! No it doesn't!" Stan protested, patting the dashboard comfortingly. "He didn't mean it, baby. He's just pissed because he actually has to get out and do something for once."

"No, dude, it sucks," Kyle assured him.

Stan shot him a warning look. "Just because the brakes are a little iffy doesn't mean she sucks. Geez, Kyle! She's old! Give her a break."

"How many stop signs have we ran since we left? Four? Your going to get a ticket for that, and then your going to get a ticket for driving a piece of shit," Kyle snapped.

"I just need to learn how far before the sign to press the gas," Stan said. He glanced over at his irate friend with a frown. "Dude, what's wrong? Why are you acting like this? I thought you'd be happy your mom finally let you do something."

"Yeah, I'm utterly delighted," Kyle muttered.

"Kyle, what's your deal?"

Kyle sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Just forget it. I'm sorry for being such an ass. I'm just a little… I don't know. Let's just drop it, okay?"

"Sure. Whatever," Stan answered, still obviously concerned.

They went the rest of the way to Token's in silence. When they arrived, the house was lit up and several high school students were filtering in the front door. Stan seemed eager to find Wendy, urging Kyle to move faster (he was exiting the truck slower than he normally would).

As they walked to the door, Kyle glanced off to his left and paused. A little ways down the street, he could see the red glow of a cigarette and the outline of someone standing at the edge of the ring of light from the street lamp. He wasn't sure since it was so dark, but… The person barely lifted his hand and waved, his fingers turning into a peace sign.

Kyle grinned.

"Kyle! Are you coming?" Stan called to him anxiously from the door.

"Uh… I left something in your truck!" Kyle lied, backing toward it. "I'll meet you inside."

"All right! Hurry before you miss something." Stan disappeared into the house.

_Yeah right. What could I possibly miss that would be so important?_ Once Kyle was sure Stan was definitely inside, he slipped between the parked cars and went across the street, making his way toward Christophe. He glanced back occasionally to make sure no one had noticed him slipping off, and when he made it to Christophe, a wave of relief washed over him.

"What are you doing here?" Kyle asked, trying not to sound like he was upset. The last thing he wanted was Christophe getting the wrong idea and leaving.

"You said you didn't want to come and that you'd get bored here, right?" Christophe countered. He handed Kyle's helmet (he had given it to Kyle the Wednesday before) over. "Then let's go."

Kyle hesitantly took his helmet, glancing back at Token's house. Stan would wonder where he had gone, but… No. Stan wouldn't even notice as soon as he found Wendy. Kyle turned back to Christophe with a smile. "Where are we going?"

Christophe just grinned and slipped his helmet on.

--

Kyle laughed as another one of his snow balls landed squarely between Christophe's shoulders. His dark-eyed friend gave a startled cry and whipped around to face him, a snow ball firmly clenched in his hand as well.

"I can't believe you're beating me at this!" Christophe shouted. He chunked the snowball, perfectly aimed, at Kyle, only to have the boy dodge it. "I've been sneaking through the dark all my life and yet some how you keep getting me!"

Another thrown snowball that Kyle ducked.

"Aw, don't be upset, mole-boy. I'm just better than you are," Kyle mocked, landing another snowball on Christophe's chest.

"You're just too small a target to hit, and you're not heavy enough to make any sound on the snow. You're cheating," Christophe accused, trying to hide behind a tree.

Kyle gave an aggravated cry. "Why does everyone have to point out that I'm short? Actually, no. You know what? I'm not short! I'm really not! You're all just fucking _tall!"_

During Kyle's rant, Christophe had somehow managed to disappear in the trees. Kyle looked around for him. "Christophe, where'd you go? Christophe?"

He gasped when he was suddenly lifted off his feet from behind, Christophe grinning down at him. "Yeah, I suppose you're about average, but if you weren't so thin, you wouldn't look so tiny. How often do you eat?"

"More than you, most likely." Kyle squirmed, trying to force Christophe to drop him. "put me down!"

"Why, so you can attack me with snowballs again?" Christophe asked, walking out of the trees with Kyle still struggling in his arms.

"I'm going to anyway," Kyle said, pausing long enough to give Christophe an evil smirk before he hit Christophe right in the mouth with a small snowball that he'd started on. The drop to the snow was a little higher than he had expected, but, as Christophe spit out snow and tried to clear his face, Kyle leapt to his feet and took off running.

Laughing as hard as he was made it difficult to get good speed. He finally had to stop and catch his breath, still laughing like a maniac. He could hear Christophe coming up behind him and turned to meet the other head on, but Christophe was closer than he thought (he really needed some help with the whole depth perception thing) and he could only cry out, startled, as Christophe swung him down to the snow covered ground.

"You think snow tastes good, do you?" Christophe asked, using one hand to hold Kyle down and the other to pick up a fistful of snow.

"No, no, no, I don't think it tastes good," Kyle said between his bursts of laughter. He wildly pushed at Christophe as the fistful of snow got closer to his face. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I swear!"

Christophe paused in his onslaught. "You didn't mean to? You swear?"

"I swear!"

Christophe eyed him cautiously before nodding and letting him sit up. Then, without warning, Christophe hit him in his still laughing mouth. Kyle gasped and started to claw away at the snow, spitting it out while Christophe had his own laugh.

"It's cold!" Kyle cried, giving Christophe a shove.

"Oh, is it? I wouldn't know, _after all_," Christophe said accusingly, making Kyle's indignant face light up in laughter again.

"It's your own fault. You should know that I'm the best when it comes to snowball wars," Kyle said haughtily.

He started to build a little fort out of snow beside him, packing the sides together to make a perfect square. Christophe watched detachedly, smiling slightly when he gave the fort a little snow man out its front door. He pulled a frozen leaf out of the snow and stuck it on one of the sides to make a little flag.

He felt Christophe's hand on his chin, drawing his face away from the fort, and he had the barest moment to realize ho close Christophe had gotten to him before Christophe's mouth was against his in a chaste kiss.

Kyle gasped and pulled back, staring at Christophe with wide eyes. Christophe returned the stare with his own intense one. Without taking his eyes off Kyle, he moved his hand up to rub his thumb against the redhead's cheek before sliding it into the deep red curls under the hat, and Kyle realized that he must have taken his glove off at some time.

Still quite shocked, Kyle didn't withdraw from the touch, and though he was unmoving on the outside, his mind was reeling. Any sense of propriety he had in him was screaming to push Christophe away, but Kyle found himself shivering under the gentle touch, _enjoying _it. He knew that it was wrong (his mother would kill him!), but… he also knew that he wanted it. Why else did he flirt with Christophe the way he did?

_I flirt with him…?_ Kyle wondered, his own thoughts shocking him even more. He was suddenly flooded with a rush of emotions that he normally ignored, and memories that had significant meanings that he never looked into. He knew the proper thing to do would be to tell Christophe to never come around again, but it wasn't the _right_ thing to do according to his feelings.

Christophe leaned in again, lingering just a hair's breath away in case Kyle wanted to push him away, and then pressed his lips to Kyle's once more. At first, Kyle didn't move, but then Christophe felt a hand on his shoulder and Kyle hesitantly began to respond. Christophe smiled against his mouth, wrapping his fingers in Kyle's soft hair.

Kyle placed his hands uncertainly on Christophe's shoulder, not really sure what he was supposed to do with them but thinking that just setting them in his lap would make him look as inexperienced as he truly was. Christophe must have had plenty of experience because not only did he know exactly where to put his hands (the one nestled so tightly in his hair and the other moving up his thigh to rest against his waist) but the kiss was making Kyle positively melt.

And then, much to Kyle surprise and displeasure – though his head was still spinning quite a bit and he needed time to calm it – Christophe pulled away and stood up, pulling Kyle back to his feet as well. He detached his hand from Kyle hair, calmly placing his glove back on with a smile while Kyle blinked in confusion.

"Wha…"

"We need to get you home," Christophe murmured quietly, slipping his arms around Kyle's waist and pulling him closer. "That party will just be ending, and I'm sure your mother wants you home safe."

Kyle just blinked, the mention of his mother being the only thing that got a reaction out of him in the form of a shiver.

Christophe tucked some of the strands of hair that had come out with his hand back under the hat. "Are you ready to go?"

"…Go?" Kyle's expression turned hard and he shoved Christophe away from him. "What? No! You can't just… just… You just can't… and then expect me to… Argh! What?"

Christophe laughed at his bafflement, drawing Kyle back to him again. "Yeah, it is a bit mean, but you're the one who spent the entire night running away from me. Now we don't have time to talk, unless you want to be in trouble with your mother." A shiver went through Kyle again. "I didn't think so."

"But you just… Okay, fine," Kyle yielded, sighing in defeat and allowing Christophe to lead him back to the motorcycle.

The ride home was uneventful, aside from Kyle realizing that maybe he _did _hold onto Christophe a little more than was required, but he had always just assumed that it was an extra precautionary against Christophe's driving skills, or lack thereof. Actually, he chided himself, Christophe was an incredibly good driver or he would not be able to do what he did without flipping.

They stopped at the head of Kyle's street, like always, and Kyle reluctantly got off. He removed his helmet and strapped it to its place behind Christophe so it would be there the next time he road on the motorcycle. Christophe had taken his helmet off as well, and he caught Kyle's hand, drawing him in for another short kiss.

"I'll come by tomorrow," he assured Kyle.

"Mm, come during the afternoon. We can talk without my parents listening in. They always go over to the Eshkols' Sunday afternoons," Kyle said.

Christophe nodded, giving him a fond smile, and then put his helmet back on. Kyle stepped to keep from getting his toes ran over and Christophe pulled away, waving over his shoulder. With a depressed, and even now confused, sigh, Kyle turned down his street and started to walk to his house.

The "talk" was a lot less stressful than Kyle had built it up to be in his mind all day. Christophe admitted that he especially liked Kyle and that he had been thinking about trying to form some sort of relationship with the redhead since they first met (well, first met again that year, seeing as they were eight the first time around).

Kyle had a harder time admitting his feelings, all thoughts of his mother lingering in the back of his mind threateningly. Christophe laughed at him though, when he admitted how nervous he was about the whole "talk" thing, which earned him another punch in the shoulder.

From then on, it was Christophe _showing_ Kyle how much he was liked, which Kyle did not mind at all, until Ike needed help making something to eat and walked into the room without knocking (honestly, how was Ike supposed to know that Kyle would be letting that strange boy with the motorcycle kiss him?).

_Two months later…_

Kyle groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "Stan… What part about 'no' do you not understand?"

"The part where all you do is sit in your room, by yourself, every afternoon and do nothing," Stan retorted, rolling his eyes when Kyle groaned again. "You have to get out and do something, Kyle! And she's cute, too! Wendy says that she'll be just your type."

_No, she won't be…_ "Stan, if I really wanted a girlfriend, then I would ask you for help, but the truth is, I don't care! That's not what is important to me right now," Kyle seethed, pushing his friend out of his way so he could escape the bathroom.

"Kyle," Stan said warningly, jumping back in front of him. He suddenly looked very concerned. "You don't even do stuff with us," Stan gestured toward himself and Kenny leaning against the wall nearby, "anymore! Every time we go somewhere you come up with some shitty excuse about why you can't go! Besides, sitting in your room is not healthy!"

"What makes you think all I do is stay locked in my room?" Kyle snapped. "Just because I don't tell you where I am doesn't mean I'm not out, and just because I'm at home doesn't mean I'm alone! Fuck, Stan! Why the hell won't you leave me alone about this?"

The bathroom was quiet, Stan appalled that his best friend would scream at him like that.

Then…

"Who are you with?"

Kyle looked over at Kenny in aggravation. "What?"

"You said you're not alone, so who are you with?" Kenny asked, grinning madly when Kyle blushed.

"No-nobody important," Kyle mumbled and started to push Stan out of the way again but was pushed back.

"Whoa, it has to be somebody if you haven't told us," Stan said, any anger he'd had before now replaced with curiosity. "If you had told me you'd already found a girl, I wouldn't be bugging you all the time. Come on, Kyle! Who is she?"

Kyle did not think that standing in the school bathroom was the best time to tell his friends that he was gay. So instead, he mustered as much pride as he could and promptly told Stan, "It's none of your business."

"Kyle!" Stan whined.

The bell rang in the halls.

"Look, I'll tell you later," Kyle said quickly. _When I have time to think about how to say it…_ "We're going to be late to class now."

"When?" Kenny demanded.

"What?" Kyle asked offhandedly. "Later, now get out of the way!"

"When later?" Stan demanded. "Tomorrow?"

"No, I'm busy tomorrow," Kyle said anxiously, just hoping the two would get out of his way. He may have been a teacher's pet, but tardies were tardies. "My parents are going to Ike's spelling bee contest tomorrow, and I have to stay home."

"Then we'll come over," Kenny suggested.

"_No_, my mother would kill me if I had people over," Kyle said, sighing in exhaustion. "Guys… Monday. I'll tell you on Monday."

"But that's like three days from now!" Stan exclaimed.

"Yeah, I know. Now move!"

Kyle stretched his arms above his head, smiling. The house was quiet, and he liked quiet Saturdays. No mother ordering him around, no brother asking him to do things, and no father trying to get him to do some father-son activities that always turned into disaster anyway. The sun was starting to set, sending reds and oranges through his window, and creating a peaceful setting in the room.

Yes, Saturdays alone were the best.

Christophe propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Kyle. "What are you smiling about?"

Well… almost alone. Christophe was a pleasant exception.

"It's been a long time since my brother and parents have been gone at the same time for such a long time." Kyle breathed in deeply and sighed contentedly. "Of course, I _should_ be doing my homework…"

Christophe chuckled and leaned forward to kiss him, to which he responded enthusiastically. There had been a few times when they were alone together when Christophe's hands would stray too far, be too friendly, and Kyle would have to gently take those hands and place them elsewhere.

This was one of those times.

Except this time, feeling as comfortable with the atmosphere and Christophe as he was, Kyle just smiled and continued to allow Christophe to explore (who was hesitant because he expected Kyle to stop him any moment) while they made out on his bed. There was a small level of uncertainty in the back of his mind, but the more Kyle seemed to allow, the more it seemed to go away.

Christophe, finally deciding that Kyle wasn't going to protest, boldly ran his hands underneath Kyle's shirt, hands massaging the soft skin that he had only been allowed to enjoy in small amounts before then. He could feel Kyle tensing at the foreign touches, but there was yet to be any objection. Kyle just responded to his kisses like he always did, and maybe even with a little more fervor.

It didn't take long for Christophe to get Kyle's shirt off, smiling affectionately at the redhead's blush to such exposure. He would pause from time to time in his movements to give his younger companion openings to stop him, and was delighted when none of those openings were taken. It amused Christophe how bashful Kyle was. He kissed the boy's red nose before removing his own shirt.

Kyle wrapped his arms around Christophe's neck as he came down for another kiss. He gasped when Christophe broke the kiss to trail kisses down his neck, leaving small bites along the way as well. It was because of these "love bites" that Kyle had a tendency to wear turtle necks, and he wondered if Christophe went any higher how he would manage to cover or explain them.

Abruptly, Christophe pushed himself away from Kyle, sitting over Kyle with a questioning look as he glanced at the door. When he looked back at the breathless teenager below him, he was met with an irritated glare.

"Well?" Kyle asked, thoroughly annoyed that the one time he was allowing Christophe to take their strange relationship a step further the man had to go and _stop!_

"When did you say your parents were coming home?" Christophe asked uncertainly.

Kyle frowned. "Not until late tonight. Why?"

"I just thought I… No, forget it." Christophe shook his head to clear whatever paranoid thoughts were in there and leaned back toward Kyle to continue what they had started.

The door opened. "Kyle, honey, we're ho- Oh my- Kyle!"

Christophe leapt away from Kyle like he had been burned, and Kyle shot up to stare at his mother standing in the doorway with wide, horrified eyes.

"Mom?" he gasped in a tiny voice.

His mother's eyes turned to Christophe, who had hastily pulled his shirt back on, and they narrowed dangerously. "Gerald! Gerald, hurry! Call the police! Kyle's been raped!"

"What?!" Kyle screeched, jumping off the bed. He stared at his mother pleadingly. "Mom, please. Don't. Don't do this, please!"

But his mother was too busy shaking a threatening finger in Christophe's direction. "I knew you were bad the moment I first saw you! Manipulating my son, you sick pervert! Well I have two words for you sicko: Child Molestation! I know you're over eighteen, but Kyle isn't and I'm going to make sure you fry!" She called over her shoulder, "Gerald!"

"Mom, stop!" Kyle shouted at her, moving in front of Christophe. "Please, just stop! He didn't manipulate me! Believe me, I was very consenting."

"You don't know when you're being manipulated, Kyle. He- Oh, Kyle, your neck!" Her eyes lit up in horror as Kyle's hand flew to his neck where all the marks were. He blushed and quickly grabbed his turtleneck, throwing it on as fast as he could. His mother glared daggers at Christophe. "You! I can't believe I allowed you near my son! Get away from him Kyle! Gerald!"

"What _is_ it, Sheila?" Mr. Broflovski appeared in the doorway behind his wife, confusedly glancing over to his distressed son.

She reeled to him, holding out an accusing finger toward Christophe. "This pervert has molested our son! Call the police, _immediately!_"

He skittered off at the tone before getting himself hurt.

Through all of it, Christophe had been wondering how he could distract her long enough to slip out the window, and as her back was turned he hurriedly made his way to it, shoving it open as she faced him again.

"No, sir! You are not leaving here unless it is in the back of a police car!"

Mrs. Broflovski made to stop him, but Kyle again jumped in her way and did his best to stop her, which, being smaller than her, wasn't much. It was enough, though, that Christophe could get out the window and jump onto the top of the garage. Kyle and his mother ran to the window and watched as Christophe slid off the garage and got onto his motorcycle. He sent Kyle an apologetic look before slipping on his helmet and starting the motorcycle.

"Come back here!" Mrs. Broflovski shrieked, pushing away from the window and running out of the room.

Kyle sadly waved goodbye as Christophe left their driveway, and then their street. He leaned against the window frame, sighing. Below him, the front door opened and his mother ran onto the lawn. After staring where Christophe had made his escape, she turned to face Kyle, positively livid.

"You stay in that room until I get up there," she snarled, eyes daring him to defy her. She began to stomp back into the house.

Kyle wasn't sure he had ever been more terrified of her than he was right then.

"Kyle?"

Lifting his head off the pillow, Kyle wearily glanced at his little brother. "Yeah, Ike?"

"Are you okay?" Ike asked, taking a cautious step into his room.

"Yeah…" Kyle murmured, eyes downcast. "I just need some time… _alone_."

Ike stopped walking toward him, catching the hint, and hesitantly left the room, giving his older brother one last concerned look.

Kyle sighed and buried his face in his pillow. He was grounded for getting in the way of his mother and for arguing with her, as well as being forbidden to have any contact with Christophe. His mother blamed Christophe, and refused to listen when Kyle tried to explain to her what was going on between them.

_It's always somebody else's fault_.

The sound of a horn, Stan was waiting outside. Kyle pushed himself off of his bed, grabbing his backpack off the chair, and slowly made his way down stairs. His mother was waiting for him by the door, having already sent Ike out.

"Remember, Kyle, if you see that boy, call the police and stay away from him," she told him.

"Yes ma'am," Kyle mumbled, trudging out the door.

The ride to school was tense. Stan gripped the steering wheel and stared at the road in something akin to shock, and none of them spoke. Kyle knew his mother had told the Marsh's, even warning Stan to make sure that Christophe stayed away from Kyle (of course, she called him "That Charles boy"). Kyle knew he should be embarrassed to have Stan know, but he was too out of it to really care.

They dropped Ike off at the elementary like usual, and it was on their way to the high school that Stan finally cleared his throat and tried to start a conversation.

"So, um, you're gay then?"

Lovely starter.

Kyle nodded weakly.

"Why, um, didn't you ever, uh, tell me?" Stan asked, his grip on the wheel tightening even more than before.

Kyle sighed. "Why do you think?"

"I don't know," Stan said with a shrug. "We're you afraid to?"

Kyle just nodded again.

"You should have said something," Stan said softly, relaxing a little. "I wouldn't have tried to set you up with all those girls if you had just told me."

Kyle didn't respond.

Stan pulled into the student lot and parked in his usual spot. Kyle unbuckled and started to get out, but Stan caught his arm.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened. I don't believe all that shit your mom said about that Charles guy molesting you. Actually, it was when she said he manipulated you was when I figured you were gay, because I know if anyone would be manipulating, it would be you," he joked weakly.

Kyle stared at Stan for a long moment, making him uncomfortable. He brushed Stan's arm away. "It's Christophe."

Stan blinked. "Huh?"

"You said Charles. His name is Christophe," Kyle corrected.

"Oh, your mom said… yeah," Stan muttered.  "So, uh, have I ever seen this Christophe?"

"The Mole… From the war…"

"Do _what?!_"

--

Kenny _and_ (thank God) Cartman seemed to realize that it was not a good day to bug him, because Kyle wasn't sure he could resist beating them into the ground. All of his teaches asked him if he needed to go see the nurse, and everyone made a wide circle around him as he walked through the hall. _Yeah_, Kyle thought,_ I look like shit. Leave me alone._

He was glad when the day was finally over, even if he wasn't going straight home. He was to go to the track and wait for Stan to get out of practice, according to his mother. Because of this, he hadn't done any of his school work, planning to do it during the hour and half he had to wait. It had given him a lot of thinking time that day.

"Hey, little one. You look sad."

Kyle's head snapped up. Christophe smiled softly at him from the bottom of the steps. Kyle hurriedly ran down the steps, grabbing Christophe's arm and pulling him out of the way of everyone's eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Kyle whispered. "If my mother finds out…"

"Just fight her!" Christophe brushed his hand against Kyle's cheek. "Tell her where to put it. This isn't her business."

"No matter what I say, she will call the police and you will be in jail, even if we haven't…" Kyle blushed, "…done _anything_. She thinks we have and she won't listen to me."

"Make her listen," Christophe urged.

"I can't!" Kyle cried, drawing the attention of some spectators. He lowered his voice. "I can't. I know you think it isn't hard, but I can't. Christophe… I…"

"You want to end this?"

"No!" Kyle's face fell into defeat. "But we can't. I'd rather not see you in trouble."

"Fine, if that is what you feel is best," Christophe leaned down and gave him a quick kiss, setting off a few gasps around them, "then goodbye."

"Christophe…" Kyle grabbed his arm but was shaken off. "Christophe!"

Christophe walked toward his motorcycle waiting at the curb. "You'll always do what your mother says, Kyle, so why bother?"

"That's not true!" Kyle argued, following him. "I'll do what she says until I'm eighteen and I leave her. I can't do much else otherwise!"

Christophe climbed onto his motorcycle, giving Kyle a pained look. "I understand what you're saying, Kyle. I'm not asking you to disobey everything she says. I'm just asking you to live your own life."

Kyle stepped back as Christophe put his helmet on and started the motorcycle. "Please be careful."

He wasn't sure if Christophe heard him because the engine revved at that moment, and then Christophe was off. Kyle watched as he swerved around other vehicles dangerously. _Christophe, don't drive like that!_

The screech of tires.

"No… Lookout!_"_

"_In_ _sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ_…"

The trees swayed in the chilly wind, flowers breaking through the frosty ground to show their radiant colors. Leaves were beginning to cover all the empty branches, the snow beginning to melt.

"…_we commend to Almighty God our brother Christophe De Lorme_."

Yet, even in the warming climate the small group of people huddled closer together both for comfort and warmth, the quite weeping of one mocked by the chittering of birds in the wet branches, fluttering about without a care in the world.

"_And we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth_…"

Kyle stood away from the group, watching the procession from afar, a small rose clenched tightly in his fist, the thorns digging into his skin and the blood barely trickling out to mingle with the browning stem.

"…_ashes to ashes, dust to dust_."

His mother didn't know he was there; she didn't know that the boy killed in the wreck had, in fact, been the same person she considered the bane of her existence. She was still looking for "Charles," still hoping to bring him to justice. She didn't know her justice had already been served.

"_The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace_."

The group moved away as the casket was lowered into the ground. Kyle waited till they had gotten into their cars and left before he made his way to the grave. They would be by to push the dirt on top of him soon, and the idea of it made Kyle choke back tears, putting hand over his mouth. He kneeled down beside the grave, dropping the rose on top of the casket.

"I'm sorry, Christophe," he whispered. "I'll live my own life, I promise…"

"_Amen_."

Sad song, but I love it. I know it doesn't follow the song to a T, but I tried my best (which isn't much, but meh, I tried and that's what counts).


End file.
